আমি বাঙ্গাল। না জন্মগত ভাবে নই।আমার জন্ম কোলকাতায়, এক ব্রাহ্ম বাড়িতে। বাবাকে বলতে শুনেছি ছোট বেলায়, “হিঁদুর ঘরের পোলা হলেই যে হিঁদু হবি তার কোন মানে নেই।” ছোট বেলায় মানে বুঝিনি কথাটার। আমার বাবার জন্ম পাবনায়। বলতেন “আমি হলেম রিফিউজি”। তার ও মানে বুঝতাম না। বাবা চলে যাবার সময় সাথে থাকতে পারি নি। তবে কয়েকদিন আগে যখন দেশে গেলাম, বললাম, বাবা, যাবে নাকি তোমার দ্যাশ দেখতে? এর আগেও অনেকবার বলেছি। শেষ বারেও এক উত্তর পেলাম। বলেছিলেন, “দ্যুস, কেডায় যাবো, নিজের দ্যাশে রিফিউজি”! চিরকাল এটা একটা কষ্টের বিষয় ছিল বাবার কাছে! আগে ভাল বুঝিনি, আজ বুঝি।
বাবা আমাকে বলতেন, তুই তো ঘটি। তা বটে। যাদের সঙ্গে বড় হয়েছি, তারা খাস জোড়াসাঁকোর ঘটি। বড় যখন হলাম, আমার মাস্টারমশায় হলেন আব্দুল মতিন। আজ যা হয়েছি, মতিন স্যারের বাড়িতে ছক মেরেই হয়েছি। কলেজে চার বন্ধু, সন্দীপন, কাজরী, হাসান আর আমি। সারা জীবন জল আর পানি, এই নিয়ে অনেক মজা মেরেছি। সাঁকোর এপারে বলে জল, আর ওপারে বলে পানি। যখন প্রথম আমেরিকায় পড়তে এলাম, মতিন স্যার বললেন, “জলপানি খাইছস তো পুরা?” এখনও হাসি মতিন স্যরের সেই কথায়।
আমেরিকায় এসে আমার প্রথম বন্ধু হল হামেদ মহম্মদ। ইরানি। অংকতে পি-এইচ-ডি করতে এসেছে। প্রশ্ন করলো, তোমার ভাষা কি? সহজ উত্তর, বাংলা! পরের প্রশ্ন, তোমার ধর্ম কি? এই প্রশ্নের উত্তরে আমি সর্বদা ফাঁপরে পরি। কখনও মাস্তানি করে উত্তর দেই, কখনও মিথ্যা মলি, কখনো এড়িয়ে যাই। কারণ, কে যে কি উত্তর শুনলে খুশি হবে, বোঝা ভার। তবে ভাষা তে সেই সমস্যা কখনো হয় নি। আজ ভাষা দিবস, আজ উত্তরটা আরো সোজা। এটা রোজদিনই সোজা। আমি রিচার্ড, হামেদ, সতীশ, মলি, ব্রিয়ানা, নাজমা সকলকেই সোজা বলতে পারি যে আমার ভাষা বাংলা, আর আমি বাঙ্গাল।
-সম্পাদক
"If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his own language, that goes to his heart."
-Nelson Mandela
The ace problem of being a Bangal is that we are a very proud nation! And why shouldn't we be! Sixty-nine years ago, on this very day, we bought Bangla in blood! The language, the prose, the dialect, it all has been bought with souls!
In its infancy, BDC was nothing but a tiny community of a few motivated youths! Young men who with fiery gaze in their eyes challenged the traditional societal bounds and sought economic freedom! Salam Barkat Rafiq and Jabbar, the revolutionary martyrs who died to show us the path to light, we only followed their footsteps! And by doing that, we have carved a piece for us in this blockchain we all love and adore!
Nothing much need say about who we are as a community. It is close to impossible to pull an "equitable community gain" than personal gain first .... but here, we do it regularly!
It comes from an unwritten bond that develops when you share your rants, the good and the bad, in a language that flows in your veins. Once upon a time, 10 years ago, the following words were uttered by a teenager with dreams at heart. He didn't know what it really meant back then, but today he does :
ভাষায় হাসে জাতি, ভাষায় কাঁদে জাতি
If you ask who we are? uttor deoa onek shoja! We are Bangals! Bangals who in brightest of days, blackest of nights, lets no evil escape their sight! Be wary of us. We are the Bangal knights!
-BDCommunity
What can I say, I was too happy going back to my village after such a long time. It was 12 months, to be exact! All this time, I was very busy with my job. It is too difficult for someone to be established in this country who does not have a background of influential people in their life. Besides, there was no support from my family, and I had no father either. My father died at a very early age. My mother was a teacher of a high school. She did everything she could for my education, and she is the only reason for who I am now. My mother always said she misses me over this year and wanted to see me, but my job did not allow me for a vacation. As this city has no mercy, if you quit a job the very next day, there would be someone to replace you. But now I have made an impression on my post, and now the company needs me more than anything. Thus my application for a week's leave was granted easily this time. I wanted to surprise my mother this year.
He prepared everything and also did some shopping for his mother. Since it was the month of February and he will make it home on 21st February. International Mother Language Day. His mother respects the history of our country. This is why it might sound coincidental to arrive on 21st February in his hometown. He was pretty sure his mother would cry, holding him at first glance. A smile came down at Shahan's face. It was a last-minute booking for his bus, but he somehow managed a seat for his travel. It was the last bus for that day. He came to the bus counter in the evening, and he also hates the fact of his hometown being quite far away from the local city of his. Only a limited number of the bus seemed to travel for that destination. He blames his mayor, who only knows how to fill their pocket rather than work for the people.
It was around 6 hours of travel to his hometown. He has to travel on a bus, boat, and a village road (he might have to walk as well, depending on the transport). By the name of Almighty, he started the journey. He was already having a bad feeling about this trip from the very morning. He had no idea why! Upon going halfway, the bus suddenly stopped. All the passengers were shocked and were kind of panicking. The driver notified everyone about a tire puncture, and they will fix it as soon as possible. But after inspecting, they found out they couldn't fix atm. As they do not have enough spare tires. Everyone was literally cursing the driver for this action. Now everyone has to suffer.
Shahan was furious like everyone else; his intuition of feeling something is not ok has come true. Now, on this highway, how is everyone going to get to their destination? He found someone of his own age, and he started to chit-chat with him. Upon talking for a bit, the other person told him there was a small bazaar up ahead, which is around 1-2 km from here. He also suggested we might find a scooter or any sort of transport to reach our next destination. So they started walking and were chit-chatting about the small stuff. As they were walking, the other person began to talk about his father. How he was a freedom fighter. His village was just a few minute's walks ahead of that bazaar. So he was in luck probably.
He showed me his father's picture, it was a very old one, the black and white ones. He roughly could see the face but somehow managed to get a clear view of his father's face. As soon as they reached the bazaar, they were lucky enough to get transport. His partner for that short trip stopped and be greeted goodbye along the road. Since it was not that big of a vehicle but more like an autorickshaw. It took faster than he thought to reach the bank of the river. Just across this river and he would almost come to his home. When he was about to get down from the seat, he felt a chill vibe across his spine. When he was giving the driver the money, the face seemed similar to him. But he was not able to remember whose face it was. He was confused, and the smile that came from that driver literally melt his courage. It was so fierce but yet polite he could not move an inch. The driver replied, "Stay safe, son!".
When he was getting down the river bank for the boat, he was kind of shivering. He still has no idea what happened! There was no boat out there but one. The man who was on the ship was covered with a cloth. There was no lamp, but the moon was bright enough to see the road. He was still in shock but asked the boatman if he would be willing to cross the river with his boat. A simple "yes" came from the man. He onboard the vessel, and it was slowly moving. That same chill that he felt before suddenly came back. His whole body felt that jolt. Now that he was on the shore, he quickly got down, brought out his purse, and paid the man. His mobile light allowed him to see the face of the sailor. He could not move as soon as he saw the face. It was the same person he saw as the driver. Within that second, he realized it was the dead father of that person he met on the bus. The same line was repeated by the sailor "Stay Safe, son"! Shahan felt his whole body has frozen. He wanted to shout as loud as he could. But his voice was not coming from his mouth. He was just standing out there without any reaction. As soon as the boatman left from the place with his boat, Shahan, without any delay, started to move his feet with all his might. He slowly started running as fast as he could, without looking back. He has no idea how far he ran nor for how long.
He came down near a Masjid and lost his consciousness. Later, when he woke up, he found himself on a bed, and his mother was there along his side. The Imam of that masjid found him lying near the masjid, and when other people were coming for prayer during Fajr, they picked him up, and few people recognized him and brought him to his home. Imam got a hard guess of what happened and did everything he could and told others to take him back to his family. Later that evening, Imam visited his house, and he described everything that happened. Imam said, it was probably something like a soul which did no harm to you but could have done if it wanted to. Shahan did not believe what the Imam said, but everything that happened with him still is in shock and has no explanation of what or how everything happened. From that day onward, he started to believe that something is out there apart from us! And that existence is present among us. He is sane, and all this happened for a reason. After all this, his mother is happy that he is secured and nothing happened to him! She told him never to come home at night! Everything happens for a reason! This Mother Language Day will be something which he will always remember in his lifetime.
কথা ছিলো রক্ত-প্লাবনের পর মুক্ত হবে শস্যক্ষেত,
রাখালেরা পুনর্বার বাশিঁতে আঙুল রেখে
রাখালিয়া বাজাবে বিশদ।
কথা ছিলো বৃক্ষের সমাজে কেউ কাঠের বিপনি খুলে বসবে না,
চিত্রল তরুণ হরিনেরা সহসাই হয়ে উঠবে না
রপ্তানিযোগ্য চামড়ার প্যাকেট।
কথা ছিলো, শিশু হবে পৃথিবীর শ্রেষ্ঠতম সম্পদের নাম।
নদীর চুলের রেখা ধ’রে হেঁটে হেঁটে যাবে এক মগ্ন ভগীরথ,
কথা ছিলো, কথা ছিলো আঙুর ছোঁবো না কোনোদিন।
অথচ দ্রাক্ষার রসে নিমজ্জিত আজ দেখি আরশিমহল,
রাখালের হাত দুটি বড় বেশি শীর্ণ আর ক্ষীণ,
বাঁশি কেনা জানি তার কখনোই হয়ে উঠে নাই-
কথা ছিলো, চিল-ডাকা নদীর কিনারে একদিন ফিরে যাবো।
একদিন বট বিরিক্ষির ছায়ার নিচে জড়ো হবে
সহজিয়া বাউলেরা,
তাদের মায়াবী আঙুলের টোকা ঢেউ তুলবে একতারায়-
একদিন সুবিনয় এসে জড়িয়ে ধ’রে বোলবে: উদ্ধার পেয়েছি।
কথা ছিলো, ভাষার কসম খেয়ে আমরা দাঁড়াবো ঘিরে
আমাদের মাতৃভূমি, জল, অরন্য, জমিন, আমাদের
পাহাড় ও সমুদ্রের আদিগন্ত উপকূল-
আজন্ম এ জলাভূমি খুঁজে পাবে প্রকৃত সীমানা তার।
কথা ছিলো, আর্য বা মোঘল নয়, এ জমিন অনার্যের হবে।
অথচ এখনো আদিবাসী পিতাদের শৃঙ্খলিত জীবনের
ধারাবাহিকতা
কৃষকের রন্ধ্রে রক্তে বুনে যায় বন্দিত্বের বীজ।
মাতৃভূমি-খন্ডিত দেহের ’পরে তার থাবা বসিয়েছে
আর্য বণিকের হাত।
আর কী অবাক! ইতিহাসে দেখি সব
লুটেরা দস্যুর জয়গানে ঠাঁসা,
প্রশস্তি, বহিরাগত তস্করের নামে নানারঙ পতাকা ওড়ায়।
কথা ছিলো, ‘আমাদের ধর্ম হবে ফসলের সুষম বন্টন’,
আমাদের তীর্থ হবে শস্যপূর্ণ ফসলের মাঠ।
অথচ পান্ডুর নগরের অপচ্ছায়া ক্রমশ বাড়ায় বাহু
অমলিন সবুজের দিকে, তরুদের সংসারের দিকে।
জলোচ্ছাসে ভেসে যায় আমাদের ধর্ম আর তীর্থভূমি,
আমাদের বেঁচে থাকা, ক্লান্তিকর আমাদের দৈনন্দিন দিন।
-Painted by 
Somewhere patriotism is hidden deep within our soul; we barely take a look at it. We prefer to leave it in the corner and unlock that safe under particular circumstances such as this, 21st February. Maybe our forefathers are shaking their heads in disappointment, thinking, "what the hell just happened? Is this what we fought for, died for?" There is no answer to that question.
Yesterday half of my office was empty. From another half, 60% left before lunch hour. Not due to some buried chauvinism, you may say Saturday was going pretty slow businesswise. While some of my colleagues were homesick, some were tired of being cooped up in their homes, and a Sunday holiday looked more like a three-day-off.
While I had my quiet lunch, a colleague joined me, and we were chatting up. Not about the language movement, about the fact that all the vacation places are packed up. I don't know why that Kumbhakarn patriotism cried a little bit, wondering why families would be vacationing on this day. Being stuck in the same circle for a lengthy period can do that to you. So when the chance finally came to enjoy the scenic view of the lovelier holiday spots, whoever could take it, took it. When my colleague informed me that people were living in the streets with kids because of no vacancy in hotels or motels anywhere, for a moment, I thought it was absurd. Then he said * "আরে, এত দিন এক জায়গায় পরে থাকতে আর কার ভাল লাগে। মানুষজন চান্স পেয়ে দৌড় মেরেছে।"*
Cox's Bazaar, Rangamati, and Saint Martin are very lovely at this time of the year, as winter is almost gone and Spring is clawing its way in. At first, I assumed it was just in those places crowds were rushing to spend their possible "extended weekend," but no, it's everywhere around the country. If I say that I'm patriotic, it would be a lie, slightly; I'm not that patriotic. So, my reaction to so many others having a good time during this remarkable day is blasphemous, to say the least.
There's one thing I felt good about, though. Our theme of Turni is centered on this particular day, and by people, I can say, more patriotic than 100s of other citizens. They don't pretend; they are loyal in their own way and trying their best from their position to make the rest of us look more picture-perfect. A few days ago, our Dadi had said everyone looks up to BDC, and she hangs out with us more than any other channels because there is much more heart-to-heart involvement and ingenuity; it made me feel proud to be here. There are writers, traders, and artists who are continually putting in their best efforts; it inspires me to try harder and do better, be better. I have a long journey, but I'm on the road.
It's early in the morning; Mr. Ahmed walks with his son and daughter to go somewhere. They came near a flower shop and taken some beautiful flowers. His little daughter asked," For whom we are taking these flowers? Dad." He replied with a smile and told them to wait for a moment, and she will see on her own. As close as they are going towards their destinations, they see crowds of people in a festive look.
They came near the Shaheed Minar (monument for the martyrs of the language movement). "What's going on there?" asked his little son. He took them near it and said, "Today is International Mother Language Day. In 1952 we fought against the oppressors and saved our mother language in the cost of many lives. We have secured our mother language by bloodshed. So today we have came to show respect to their sacrifice for our mother tongue ." They were looking at the monument with respect in their eyes. Mr. Ahmed took them and placed the flowers in respect of the martyrs. These little souls were delighted in knowing such a great sacrifice they have made for the language.
From 1999 this day got the reconciliation to be celebrated as the international mother language day. Such an honor for us! Every year this day reflects our culture with many cultural programs and so on. Actually, It's not the only day we should be proud, show respect to the martyrs and feel the love for the country. We should always remember this sacrifice and live for the sake of the country. This day can be seen as a day to pass the history to the next generations with something different like Mr. Ahmed. Generation after generation will carry the past and remember this sacrifice of the martyrs and mold themself to be devoted to the country. Here is the achievement of the celebration we organize every year. In the end, I wanna salute those martyrs for securing my mother tongue for us.
Some professions are called noble professions. One of these great professions is the Medical profession and teaching. I have consciously penned through on one of the above words because this 'great' word now does not fit most of the above professions. The term 'Noble' is under a lot of coercion today due to the commercialization of private hospitals and universities. As people in this profession today are more focused on money and power, the humbleness of the ordinary people towards them(except for a few exceptions) is slowly declining.
Personally, I am deeply influenced by the father of our nation, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. This emotion is by no means political. As a person, I like him very much. Even today, whenever I hear the historical speech of him which was delivered on 7th March, I feel much excited. He may not have known how many people at home and abroad were incited by his eloquent speech. That day I was listening to an interview of one of my favorite singers and composer Kabir Sumon. He was confessing that Sheikh Mujib's eloquent speech on 7th March might have energized him to become today's Sumon. Sheikh Mujib is not just a name but a symbol of enthusiasm.
This was a true event. Our national poet Kazi Nazrul Islam was very ill then. Many years after Nazrul's death, I saw a picture in a magazine. At first sight, I didn't find anything special in that picture. Usually, the head of a country might visit a sick poet. But when I discerned deeply, I found Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was sitting far below where the poet was lying. Although he was the Prime Minister of the country at that time, he did not recline next to Nazrul. He sat down with his head bowed. This is called humbleness.
The post of Vice-Chancellor of Dhaka University was vacant at that time. Sheikh Mujibur Rahman drives towards Professor Abdul Matin's residence with all his protocol. He could have driven the car inside his sir's house if he wanted to, but thinking it would be unmannerly, he parked the car in the place we know as TSC. After reaching there, he proposed his professor be the Vice-Chancellor of Dhaka University. In reply, the professor told Sheikh Mujibur Rahman that he would announce his decision after thinking three days and that whatever the outcome, he should not come to his house for the second time to request about this issue. As per him, it doesn't look good that the head of the nation runs after such matters; there are many important works to do for the country! He later informed that he is not ready to take the position at the moment.
In the above two events, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman's modesty towards the elders was revealed even though he was the country's prime minister at that time. Today's teachers and politicians should learn what humility is from these great people. And if they can learn it properly, then this country will be more beautiful and prosperous.
This here is our piece de resistance. To promote engagement and a little self-branding, we have come up with an initiative that we simply called Featured. And we are very excited about this portion of the magazine.
Every week, one talented author will have the opportunity to contribute a piece for the magazine while showcasing one of their best posts. The willing writers will have a chance to add a few words about any topic they choose and be a 25% beneficiary of the magazine.
The first step is you have to decide whether you want to get featured or not. Once you've made up your mind, you have to apply by submitting one of your articles from last week. We have a wiggle room for quality content if they are older than seven days. Choose the piece you deem to be your best work for the week, as this will play a significant role in you getting featured or not.
There will be a two-day period to submit your application. It must be submitted by dropping a link to your post in the #Featured-Magazine channel on the BDCommunity Discord Server. One author will be chosen randomly from all the submissions. The featured author for the week will be announced during the weekly voice meeting. They will then have two days to write a piece and submit it.
The author who gets featured in the weekly magazine will be set as a 25% beneficiary, meaning 25% of the magazine's liquid payout will go to the featured author.
Do not forget to join our next weekly hangout on at Friday 10 pm GMT +6
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